


What you need

by noahlikeswaffles



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Being Walked In On, Discipline, Dom John Watson, Dom/sub, Domestic Discipline, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, John Is So Done, Light Bondage, M/M, Misunderstandings, Praise Kink, Spanking, Sub Sherlock Holmes, Submission, Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:47:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27249805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noahlikeswaffles/pseuds/noahlikeswaffles
Summary: John is livid. Absolutely livid. When is it going to be the last time Sherlock risks his life for no reason?It stops now, if his belt has anything to say about it.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 95





	1. Chapter 1

John snarled, his teeth grit in his mouth as the cab pulled up to 221b. Sherlock's lips were curled into a smile, the blue light of his phone illuminating his soft pale skin. How beautiful he looked only made John angrier. He shoved a wad of bills to the driver and shoved open the door, grasping Sherlock by his coat sleeve and tugging him up onto the kerb. The lanky detective tumbled over himself, as John dragged him to the door. 

"John! John slow down!" Sherlock laughed, his post-case high still thrumming in his veins like fire. John didn't say anything as he turned the key in the lock, and Sherlock bit his lip before leaning down like the bloody giraffe that he was and kissing John's chin with soft warm lips, his breath fogging on the doctor's scruffly skin. 

John pulled back in an instant, his eyes dark and serious, sending a strong chill down Sherlock's spine. 

"J-Jawn?" Sherlock whispered, "are you okay?"

"Am I-? No, Sherlock, upstairs _now_." John breathed fire and glared at Sherlock so hard he could feel it burning on his skin. The door pushed open and John stomped up the stairs, not saying a word, and Sherlock blinked, his gut twisting in fear. What had he done? Making John angry was his least favourite thing in the world. What if John got so angry that he left? Oh God, what would Sherlock do? The thought of losing John, again, he knew he wouldn't make it without him. Sherlock twisted the silver wedding band on his finger and swallowed thickly before following his rather vexed husband up the stairs, his feet shuffling a bit. The landing was quiet, he assumed Hudson had put Rosie to bed hours ago, and Sherlock nudged open the door, his eyes wide and soft, finding John sitting in the black armchair, his ankle crossed over his knee, his eyes fixed angrily at Sherlock. 

"John- I-"

"You can say no, Sherlock, but say it now," John said lowly, jaw set firmly and Sherlock suddenly realized what was going to happen. They'd played around a bit in the bedroom, but this- with John so angry, with a horrible creature in his stomach, clawing and threatening to escape- this wasn't play. 

"No to what, sir?" Sherlock spoke softly, eyes pale and innocent, head of curls bowing between his shoulders to watch his feet, his hands tucked behind his back. 

"Let me ask you, Sherlock, what do _you_ think you deserve?" Sherlock blinked, brows furrowed.

"What did I do? sir?" 

"Don't play games with me, this isn't a game, you prat," John growled, "You may find it acceptable to chase after armed criminals, _alone,_ without phoning Lestrade or waiting for me, but I don't. Do you know what that does to me? Do you? Do you know what it's like to watch your best friend, your partner, die in front of you?" John's anger grew with each word. "What were you thinking?" He asked, not really expecting an answer.

Realization dawned on Sherlock, as well as a flood of guilt, he hadn't been thinking. He was an idiot and he'd almost lost John for it. He hung his head low, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, so he shut them tight. 

"I'm sorry, John," He whispered finally, face twisted in shame. He'd done it again. The one thing he would never do again. It wasn't that he'd done it on purpose! It was the brother! Obviously! He had just needed to catch him before he could leave the country, and he was _right there!_ He'd only seen the gun later.

"I will repeat myself only this once- do you want to say no?" John leaned forward in the chair, elbows resting on his knees and his fingers laced in front of him. He observed Sherlock with a cold nonchalance and Sherlock wanted to disappear, wanted to cry, wanted to- he didn't know what he wanted to do. He wanted to make John happy with him again, that's what he wanted.

"No, I consent," He whispered, not even aware what he was consenting to. He slowly peeled off his coat and sank to unsteady knees, hands folded behind his nape, his eyes down and his posture straight.

John didn't say anything, standing and approaching Sherlock, getting down on one knee and carding a hand through his curls, gentle and kind, the younger man preening under his fingers, butting his hand up into the touch. John leaned forward, fist gripped tight around a shock of curls, and whispered softly into the shell of Sherlock's ear.

"I'm cross with you, Sherlock, very cross, but this is only because I love you, you know that, don't you?"

"Yes, sir," Sherlock whimpered, eyes still shut tight. 

"Good boy," John muttered and Sherlock let out a shaky breath at the warm praise, pride and softness flickering over his skin in a hot blush. His mind was fading from him, he realized slowly, drowzily, solely because he was on his knees. Kneeling before his husband, his dominant, simply the thought of that power was enough to make him floaty. He blinked and looked up to John, eyes soft and child-like. 

John looked down at Sherlock, their eyes meeting, and for a moment his anger was stiffled, his heart warming at the sight of his sub, kneeling before him perfectly, just the way he taught him to, eyes so expectant and submissive- surrendered to John's mercy. The thought sent a stirring to his pants, but he cooled himself off with just one thought of Sherlock getting shot tonight, the very notion like a bucket of ice water. 

"Eyes down, boy," He slapped his bare hand across Sherlock's face, with a growl and Sherlock yelped, turning to the floor quickly, He moved his hand to grab a fistful of curls, tugging him harshly upwards, "stand up, clothes off, and I want them folded _neatly_ ," He barked, Sherlock whimpered and scrambled to get up on his feet, frantically ripping open his buttons and efficiently folding his shirt and trousers in a neat on the floor, his pants and socks joining their ranks in seconds. John smirked to see Sherlock's cock already at half-mast, and _oh God_ was he delicious like this. Miles of delicate porcelain skin, even the white mottled scars that licked his back and over his shoulders, dipping into his clavicle. Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. 

John's warm callused palms traced along Sherlock's nude skin, pausing on his waist, fingering along the bullet-shaped scar on his sternum, admiring him like the precious possession he was. 

"I love you, Sherlock, but this cannot happen again," John said with a sadness, a _disappointment_ that struck deep in Sherlock's heart.

"I'm sorry, John," He whispered, mostly to himself and John pulled cuffs from his back pocket, twirling Sherlock around and clasping them around his wrists, the metal digging slightly into his flesh with a surprising bite. These were Lestrade's nicked cuffs, and they bloody hurt, but Sherlock bit back his whine. He would be good for John, he'd prove that he was good and John would like him again. John gruffly and swiftly manhandled him to the desk, grabbing *wince* his red laptop and tossing onto his chair before bending Sherlock across the cold wooden surface, his sensitive bare skin hissing at the unexpected contact. Sherlock's shoulders ached like this, vulnerable and humiliated- his back bent forward and his backside on display-although that was rather the point of this.

John kicked between his feet, and Sherlock spread his legs wider, his bullocks peeking out from between his legs and his plump arse. John took more than a moment to appreciate it, thumb rubbing a warming circle across the delicate and smooth skin. This was punishment, but that didn't mean John couldn't enjoy Sherlock's body. He sighed, stepping backwards and unbuckling his belt, slipping it from each loop. Every metallic jangle sent a stroke of nerves through an already trembling Sherlock. 

"count and thank me for each one, am I understood?" John graveled in his Captain's Voice.

"Yes sir," Sherlock breathed, his face pressed sideways onto the tabletop. The younger man shook, his curls dipping in front of his pressed-closed eyelids. He sucked in a breath, bracing himself. John raised his arm and brought the folded leather strap down with a _SLAP._ A raised red welt rose in it's wake and a whimpering Sherlock rolled forward on the balls of his feet, teeth digging into his bottom lip to suppress a groan. It hurt! It bloody hurt! 

" _Sherlock_ ," John warned, and Sherlock gasped out,

"one, thank you sir!" 

"Good lad," John gave the smarting welt a pat and Sherlock grimaced. The second slap slashed across the first, the pain doubling and Sherlock's whimpers less quiet as he pinched away tears. 

"twothankyousir," He mumbled, his voice high and soft in pain. His throat was burning with tears, his lip trembling as he pressed his forehead into the hard wood desk, his nostrils flaring. 

"Will this happen again, Sherlock?" John growled and Sherlock pushed up to shake his head, turning back to look John in the eyes just barely

"No! Never- I-Ah! three!" He cried as a thrid strike hit just on the sit-spot, "th-three thank you, s-sir," 

The next strikes came hard and fast and Sherlock rushed to count them, his valiant efforts not to cry dashed, first with a single escape droplet that clung to his face in a salty rivulet, then onto full fledged wails, a tiny puddle forming beneath his face on the table. The tips of his fringe were crusted with tears as well. 

"n-ine!" He winced, groaning and bouncing on the balls of his feet, his chest heaving, "th-ank y-ou s-sir,"

"Shh Shh Shh," John hushed him, warm steadying hand rubbing the dip of his back, "You're almost done, sweetheart, just one more, baby, then we're all done" Sherlock trembled beneath him, body wracked with cries, his bum a canvas of lashes, some a purpleing crimson. John pulled his arm back and delivered a punishing final stroke. Sherlock let out a torn sob.

"TEN!" He shrieked, "tha-ank you sir!"

John smiled and let his belt drop to the floor, immediately unlocking the cuffs, wincing at the deep red marks they left. Ouch. He gently tugged a shaking Sherlock by his forearms to his own chair, encouraging the sobbing man to kneel between his legs, his well-placed medkit right beside them. He pulled out the cooling gel and rubbed gentle circles around his swollen red wrists, warm lips depositing a soft kiss to each. 

"You did such a good job, baby, such a good job," He pulled Sherlock's head to his knee, his quietly sniffling nose pressed into his thigh, and John hushed him gently as he carded through his curls, leaning down and savoring their sweet minty smell. "You're so precious, baby, and I am so proud of you," Sherlock whimpered and cralwed onto John's lap, nose tucked into his neck, smarting bum placed in the gap between John's legs, knees bent into the sides of John's chair, their fronts pressed together as John pet his nape, a kiss finding it's way to the crown of his head. Halfway between subspace and subdrop, John gently guided him upwards with his voice, and Sherlock followed, floaty and thoughtless. Everything gone but Jawn. Jawn was proud of him, Jawn said he was good.

"I'm- s-sorry Jawn, I won't do it again,"

Suddenly, a small voice from the creaking doorway cut John off before he could respond. John's head swiveled to see a very awake four-year-old rubbing her eyes with her fist.

"Daddy?" Sherlock froze, and John pressed on his nape, pulling the blanket from behind him and wrapping it around Sherlock, gently switching places with him so that he was curled up in John's squishy armchair. 

"I'll be right back," He murmured, tucking a curl behind Sherlock's ear before he stepped away and knelt down in front of his daughter, watching as she peeked up on her tip toes to see Sherlock over the back of the chair.

"Is Locky crying?" She said sweetly and John brushed it off with a smile. 

"He's fine, honey, we were just doing an experiment, why aren't you asleep?" He raised a falsely stern eyebrow but she avoided that line of questioning. 

"Why are Locky's clothes on the flo- Ee!" She squealed as he scooped her over his shoulder, huffing up the stairs as she giggled. "Da-addy! Locky says when y'answer a question wif a question it means you're hidin somethin,"

"Well your Locky doesn't know everything, don't let him fool you otherwise," John said as he lowered her into her bed, tucking her under the big fluffy duvet covered in yellow flowers and bees. "Do you need a story?"

"I just wanted to see you and Lock Lock," She mumbled, "You guys's never take _me_ on cases,"

John closed his eyes. Nope, not even gonna think about that conversation down the road. He sighed as he tucked her into the covers, brushing her bangs from her forehead and pressing a kiss there.

"Goodnight, Rosamund, no getting up again," 

"Night Daddy," She muttered, eyes closed and mouth open. John flicked off her light switch, turning on the night-light globe on her chest of drawers before closing her door behind him with a click and hurriedly descending the stairs. Sherlock was just where he left him, kneeling on John's chairs, up off his ankles to protect his sensitive bum. Even from here John could see his curly mop shivering. He smiled and approached, reaching down from behind and nuzzling into his neck, Sherlock shrieking out a tiny squeal at the tickle.

"Shh, you'll wake Sleeping Beauty again," John tutted and Sherlock turned serious, eyes wide and guilty.

"I didn't mean to be so loud," He whispered and John tsked, walking around to kneel in front of Sherlock, brushing his hair from his face.

"You were perfect, Sherlock, that was my bad not going into our room." Sherlock nodded a bit, holding his blanket tight around himself. "You just cannot, ever do that again, _ever_."

"I know, Jawn," He whispered gravely, "I'm so so sorry, I didn't think, I should've thought, I was so _stupid_ , stupid," Sherlock scolded himself and John furrowed his brows, grasping the taller man by the chin and forcing their eyes to meet.

"You made a mistake Sherlock, you're human, and I forgive you," Sherlock blinked, his heart throbbing with joy in his chest, reaching out and pulling John close, tucking himself around him like a burrowing woodland creature.

"Ah! Alright, alright, come on, let's get you to bed, mister," John chuckled and pulled Sherlock up out of the chair, but the lanky bastard kept himself all cacooned inside John's neck, hands roaming up under his jumper as the blanket fell off of his naked form. 

"Whatever you say, _daddy,_ " Sherlock murmured and John grinned, guiding their intertwined bodies to the bedroom and pushing open the door with his back, shuffling out of his trousers and toeing off his socks as he pulled them both onto the mattress. 

"Sherlock y'gotta let go so I can get my jumper off," John nudged his husband to untangle himself, and Sherlock gave him just a smidge of room to work with as he struggled out of the knit garment, leaving him in his vest and pants. Lucky thing Sherlock liked sleeping naked anyway. He sighed and settled them under the duvet, Sherlock sprawled out on his chest like a starfish, his shampoo-advert curls pluming across John's gnarled scar, his ear pressed to John's heartbeat. John smiled and drew circles on Sherlock's back, resting back into his pillow. 

"I really ought to put cream on those smacks, love,"

"NO!" Sherlock latched onto him, "No please, cuddles, please, cream tomorrow,"

"You'll be complaining for at least a week if I don't" John groaned, but he gave into Sherlock's wishes and held him him ever closer, soft lips kissing his freckled shoulder. 

"I do little else," Sherlock shrugged and John chuckled, reaching to turn off the bedside lamp. 

"G'night, my love," John murmured into his hair and Sherlock closed his eyes in sweet relief, the endorphin rush hitting him hard. 

"G'night Jawn,"


	2. Chapter 2

Greg groaned, scrubbing at his face as he tapped out the keys of his computer, writing up the details of that last case. Man had it been close. Sherlock had nearly died, and after a quick debrief with John, they doctor had quickly shuttled him home. 

"See that he behaves himself, John," Greg had joked. The fiery light in John's eyes made Greg bite his lip awkwardly at this statement before bidding them farewell and processing the bastard who'd almost killed Sherlock. 

He sipped at his coffee, the felt tip scrawled _Gregory_ sending a smile to his lips. There was only one man in the country who was allowed to call him that. The thought gave him a more pleasant air, as Mycroft always did, and he finished up his report quickly. He made to stand and go to the copy machine when there was a small knock on the door. 

"Come in," He said absently, straightening the stack of papers on his desk, hand on his hip, "Oh! Rosie, what're you doing here?" He furrowed his brows but smiled brightly. The blonde child's features twisted into a quite obvious perturbedment. He was suddenly more a bit curious as to how she'd gotten to NSY and into the homocide department "Are John and Sherlock with you?" 

"They're talkin' to Miss. Donovan, I want to speak wif you, Detective Inspector," She said very seriously, drawling out the syllables of his title with an adorably formal air, inherited from her Father. and Greg nodded quite unsure what to think, gesturing for her to have a seat. The four-foot-tall girl crawled up into the desk chair, sitting criss-cross in it with her hands folded in front of her chin. 

"What's this about, love?" 

"I think my Daddy is hurting Lock," She said quickly, blinking at a now _very_ confused Greg. "I heard them last night, Lock was crying and Dad was hitting him," She said flatly, laying the evidence before him, "even though Daddy saids that he'd never do that to me, he said that was wrong," 

"I see," Greg nodded, the gears of his mind churning very slowly. John...hurting Sherlock? _Wouldn't be the first time_ , his mind supplied. Christ. But- they were together now, all that stuff with Mary was over for good. He leaned back in his chair, scrubbing his chin. "Why don't you tell me exactly what you heard," He pulled out a blank report, filling out his own info at the top. 

"Do you think I'm lying?" She said, and Greg's eyes widened as he shook his head. Rosie was a sharp kid, he didn't think she'd make it up. Children were often the most reliable witnesses when you asked the right questions- they told things as they saw them.

"Are you telling the truth"

"yes." She said.

"Well then I don't think you're lying,"

"Am I giving a deposition?" She inquired as he scribbled out a few details.

"Just a domestic violence inquiry report, darling, just to gather some facts. I know this must be difficult for you, but can you tell me what you saw?"

"Not much," She hugged her knees, tugging a blonde pigtail between her teeth, chomping on the fibers. "I couldn't sleep, heard slapping, heard Locky crying, and I- I heard Daddy shouting, and when I asked Daddy he wouldn't answer me, he wouldn't. He's hiding something, Lestwade, I know it. And this morning Lock Lock wouldn't sit down, his bum hurt,"

"Did you hear what they were saying?"

Suddenly the door swung open, an out of breath John appearing at the door, panting and waving at Greg.

"Hi Greg. Rosamund Mary, what did I say about not staying in my line of sight?" John raised his eyebrow and Greg turned to meet Rosie's urging eyes. At that moment Sherlock also appeared in the doorway.

"Oh thank God, I knew she hadn't left he building, hello Graham,"

" _Greg,"_ Lestrade sighed, lacing his fingers together on his desk. "Actually, can I speak with you alone, Sherlock?"

"Is everything alright?" John's face scrunched and Greg gave him his nondescript smile.

"Just need to have a private conversation, that's all," He spoke cooly and calmly and Sherlock immediately sensed the tension in the room, the curly-haired beanpole nodding at his husband to go along without him. John gave Greg a skeptical glance before grasping Rosie by the hand and leaving, the door clicking shut behind them and sending the room into silence. 

"I'm sorry about last night," Sherlock blurted, hands folded in his lap, eyes focused on his twiddling thumbs. Greg pinched his brows but shook his head jovially. 

"No, it's not that, Sherlock it's-"

"is Rosie okay?" The detective's eyes were on Greg in a flurry of deductions, his eyes widening when he saw the incident report beneath Greg's folded hands. 

"Rosie's fine, Sherlock, she's worried about you, actually,"

"Worried about me?" Sherlock cocked his head, "Why would she be worried?"

"She's expressed concern about you and John. I know this might be difficult, Sherlock, but I need you to be absolutely truthful with me,"

"Me and John are fine!" Sherlock shouted, eyes ablaze. Clearly he didn't like that subject being brought up, and who would, with a relationship that took so long to work, with every bump in the road possible. The younger man paced Lestrade's tiny office with long strides.

"Sherlock, calm down! She said he hit you, is that true?" Sherlock's cheeks went dark pink instantly, frozen with his mouth open slightly and his eyes wide. Greg's stomach twisted.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes, okay? Yes, he did, but it's not what you think!" He hissed, crossing his arms indignantly.

"Alright, explain,"

"I- well, it's, uh," Sherlock's cheeks grew impossibly redder, Lestrade surprised to see him so flustered like this, "I consented, to um, that,"

Greg's heart raced, his ears burning as the puzzle pieces fit together. _Make sure he behaves himself._ Oh God. 

"You're telling me this is a sex thing?" 

"Sortofkindabutnotalways, what does it matter, it was consensual, case closed, Giles" Sherlock rushed his sentence, glaring daggers at Lestrade. 

"it's _Greg_ , are you you're alright?"

"No, no I'm fine," Sherlock itched at the back of his neck and a relieved grin spread across Greg's face.

"If you need some time off you know me and Mycroft can babysit anytime," Sherlock rolled his eyes and made to leave, "and Sherlock, maybe you should tell Rosie that you're not being abused, so she doesn't have to make another report?"

"Right, yes, I'm terribly sorry to waste your time,"

"No problem kiddo. You know where to find me if something is wrong, right?" Greg clapped a hand on Sherlock's shoulder, the detective giving him an annoyed look.

"Obviously"

"That's a good kid you've got there," Greg beamed, and Sherlock's lips curled into a smile. "Right, off you go,"

"Yes, goodbye," The detective removed himself quickly and left. Greg groaned as he collapsed back into his chair. What a roller coaster. He grinned and shook his head. Now _this_ was a good story to tell at Christmas. 

**Author's Note:**

> come say on tumblr! I'm at button-mcbuttontosh.tumblr.com


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